


Ride a Wave

by poisontaster



Series: Sex Pollen [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-14
Updated: 2007-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants more and if Dean won't give it, he might take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride a Wave

He has Dean on the bed, arms over his head, half-tangled in his clothes and the head of his cock peeping redly over the waistband of his shorts. And just… _Jesus Christ._ Dean's flushed and turned on, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" in the hoarse, distracted voice that Sam knows _Dean_ doesn't even know what he's saying.

Sam shoves his tongue in Dean's mouth to shut him up. Dean hums instead, arching and grinding up against Sam shamelessly. Sam writhes back, the couple beers they had at the bar just enough to make him lazy and warm and happy in his skin. "Mmm. I want," Sam murmurs, tasting the fullness of Dean's lower lip and then messily slurring his way down. "I want. I want…"

Like Dean, he doesn't seem to be able to articulate any further than that, mostly content to have Dean under him, sweet and smiling back and ready. "Yeah," Dean says again and shifts, head tilting back and his hand groping for the band of leather on his opposite wrist. "Just…wait…"

"No." Sam's not even thinking before he closes his fingers over Dean's wrist. Hard. It's all instinct. But the minute he does it, something crystallizes in his gut, something that feels like it's been building for a while now.

Dean goes still. He flexes his arm experimentally against Sam's grip once and then his eyes roll around to meet Sam's, dark and suspicious and a little bit scared. But he only says, "Sam?"

"Leave it on."

"On?"

Impatience snakes through Sam, dark and curling, but he curbs it fast, bending to bite at Dean's mouth instead, sharp, quick nips that make Dean's hips piston sharply against his own. "I want…" Sam starts and then cuts himself off. "Just like this, okay? Just you 'n me." He slips one hand up the warmed ridge of Dean's side to thumb his nipple roughly. "Just Sam 'n Dean."

"Yeah, but…" Dean wiggles up a little—the friction makes Sam hiss—to lift up on his elbows. "'Sam' and 'Dean' are brothers, man."

Sam blinks. "And so…what? You take that bracelet off and we're magically not brothers?" He doesn't mean to sound so incredulous, but of all the things he might have expected Dean to say, this isn't even in the same galaxy as any of them.

"No!" Dean scowls as if Sam's the one being particularly obtuse. His freckles fade into his blush at the same time, though, and the combination of Dean's angry-panicky expression and the shift of his body against Sam's threatens to derail any rationality Sam's got left especially since his gearshift is firmly stuck on _get laid now_. "I just… I can't… It's _different_ without it."

And Sam gets that; he does. But he wants more than the part of Dean he gets when the bracelet comes off. Yeah, Dean's damn hot when he's spread wide and begging for Sam to fuck him…but that's not all there is to him. Not nearly all.

Sam palms Dean through his boxers and feels his cock respond. "Doesn't have to be that different," he says, pitching his voice low and soft so Dean has to strain for it. "Spread your legs for my cock, let me in you, fuck inside you… Let me fill you up, Dean."

He knows he could make Dean do it. Order him; Dean responds well to orders, like it's somehow written on his genes in military green. By his own words—and by _years_ of habit—Dean is Sam's to do with as he wants. And he knows that Dean wants it; wants Sam to make him, tell him what to do. He wants to _be Sam's_. And Sam wants that too.

But he wants all of Dean.

Dean's breath hitches sharply and unevenly at Sam's words, eyelids fluttering down. He's stretched so taut and a part of Sam would like nothing more than to put an end to this by slipping the tip of his finger beneath the leather and ripping the bracelet off himself. "Sam…" Dean breathes, sounding agonized even as he ruts a little against Sam's belly.

"Dean," he answers, framing Dean's face between his hands. "This doesn't change anything. It doesn't have to change _us_. You're still my… You're still _mine_."

Dean's eyes open. At close range, they're brilliant, intense with color, with feeling. In them, Sam sees Dean's relief—which feeds his own—but it's clouded, less than complete. Starting to feel a little bit desperate, Sam bends again to kiss Dean. Dean breathes out in half a whine, but his mouth opens to take Sam's tongue, pliant lips searching for the perfect mix of angle, pressure and softness. Sam's fingertips hook around the delicate shell of Dean's ears and his palms press against his brother's face as Dean sucks at him, clings to him with tangled fingers and hard-muscled thighs.

Dean looks dazed when Sam pulls back, but he still says, "You're kidding yourself if you think… It won't be the same, Sam." And Dean wants him; he knows Dean wants him, but Dean's voice is flat and ugly, shutting him out.

Sam's lips press thin. It's not annoyance or anger; he hopes not, anyway. Sometimes he feels like this thing between them is as fragile and delicate as a Christmas ornament, balanced on his clumsy palm; one false or even abrupt move will make it tumble and break. And maybe break Dean with it.

"No," he agrees. "It won't be the same." He tilts his face into Dean's neck, smelling him, lapping gently at the skin behind his ear and where it meets the jaw. Shudders run under Dean's skin in waves. "But maybe it'll be _better_. You ever think about that?"

Dean's face turns away, the tendons of his neck stretching tight under Sam's seeking lips. "I don't know if I can."

Sam pulls back far enough that he can look Dean in the eyes again. Or, really, the side of Dean's face. "Is that 'no' or is it 'I don't know'?" He pushes up on the bed a little, enough to grind himself more firmly against Dean. "Because if it's just an 'I don't know', then I'm going to fuck you and you're not taking the bracelet off."

It isn't what he wants, not exactly but they're both on shaky enough ground about what they _do_ want that he sees the wisdom of baby-stepping them through this.

Again Dean's breath hop-scotches in his throat and his face darts back to center, his gaze searching Sam's. Sam's belly is slick with Dean's fluid; he slides against Dean's body in restless circles and shifts, wanting, hungry and almost sick with it by now. He recognizes the light in Dean's eyes now, though; the twin to what's burning under Sam's own skin and this, at least, is slightly more familiar.

"I'm gonna strip you naked and put you on your belly," Sam breathes, gliding the tip of his nose along the flattened curve of Dean's cheekbone, exhaling against his brother's skin and feeling him react. "Put just enough slick inside you so I don't scrape my dick off and then take you so deep you can feel me in your throat."

"Sam—" Dean says again, and this time it's not a protest.

"You want it, Dean?" He writhes against his brother, pointed, punishing. "You want my cock?"

"You know I do."

"Say it. Ask for it."

"Sam…"

"No." Sam digs his fingertips lightly into the smooth underside of Dean's arms, tracing the muscle and tendon all the way to Dean's wrists, bringing them up above his head again. Dean's eyes flash, but he let's Sam pin his arms. "Leave the bracelet on. Arms up. Now. Do you want to be fucked or not?"

Dean huffs shakily. He's unsteady and nervous, somewhere between personas. Then he shifts, arching his back and sliding his thighs up Sam's sides to spread his legs high and wide. "Please, Sam," he says and it sounds like it comes through a mouthful of grit. Despite Dean's body language, there's a faint undertone of _I'll get you for this later_ that Sam's not sure how he feels about. "I want… Just… Just fuck me, okay? Please."

"Yeah. God. Yeah, of course." Sam coaxes Dean out of the rest of his clothes—the jeans still tangled around one leg and his boxers. There are still faint scratch marks on Dean's lower back and hips from last time, paling welts of possession. Sam retraces them, first with the balls of his fingers and then with his nails, flushing them with blood again.

Dean's mouth opens and his eyes close as then sensation ripples through him. His voice trembles higher and more breathless. "Harder."

Sam claws him again and Dean moans, the flush of his skin deepening and spreading. Sam feels short of breath and high himself watching Dean writhe on the sheets. Dean's arms are still immobile above his head held by nothing more strenuous than Sam's say-so; Dean's cock is so wet it looks like Sam's been sucking it, faint pearly smear soaking the coarse hairs of his belly and pubes. Sam's not much better; they've been at this a long time, letting desire string out too far. A third rake of his fingernails and desperate shimmy from Dean and then Sam is done with foreplay.

"Put your legs around me, Dean." Sam coats his fingers in lube and reaches between Dean's legs, smearing it over the skin between Dean's balls and hole and then across Dean's opening itself, puckered but not tight.

"Sam—" Dean's voice is pleading but hopeless. Sam works hard and conscientiously to make sure Dean gets what he needs from this—from Sam—but he loves to tease him this way, rubbing and rubbing across the outside of Dean's hole until Dean quivers and whines, trying to push down and take Sam's fingers inside him.

"Be still." Sam splays his other hand across Dean's hip though he doesn't press down. He doesn't have to. Dean makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and a moan, but the shuddery circling of his hips stops the moment Sam tells him to. "Let me touch you."

 _"Fuck,"_ Dean hisses out through his teeth, like Sam's getting ready to stitch him up or cauterize, rather than just toy with his ass a little.

Without stopping the firm rub of his fingertips, Sam slithers up Dean's body to grind open Dean's mouth with his own. Dean just moans and opens and gives it up, damn near vibrating with the effort of being still. "Just a little bit," Sam promises, breathing into Dean's panting mouth. "Just want to touch you a little bit and then I'll slip my cock in you so sweet, so deep…" Dean makes a stifled noise and the pointed tip of his tongue peeks out to lick Sam's upper lip. "Fuck you long as you want, hard as you want."

Sam lets his fingertip press into Dean, just a little.

Another sound from Dean, startled and gasping, but Dean doesn't move, doesn't try to thrust down. Sam smiles against the corner of Dean's mouth and presses his finger in. "My good boy. Jesus, Dean, you're so fucking hot like this. So fucking hot. I just want you." He bites the ridge of Dean's jaw and thrusts in with a second finger, feeling Dean twist helplessly between the two sensations. "Just you."

"Sam." The single syllable of his name wavers on Dean's lips. "I don’t…can't… Now. Please? Can't wait anymore. Please just… Want it now."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Hang on." It only takes a few seconds to rearrange them, to position himself. "Hang on and open up for me." Sam presses up and Dean bears down, taking Sam into him in one slow, deep slide. Sam's head feels like stone on the end of his neck, forehead grinding into Dean's shoulder. "Fuck. Dean. _Dean._ "

"I want… I want to touch you."

Dean's voice surprises him, as does the request, sending ripples down Sam's spine, hardwired to his hips. He buries himself the rest of the way in Dean convulsively, groaning deep in his throat. "Yeah." His lips feel so dry; he licks them and picks up the salt taste of Dean's skin. "Yeah, Dean, you can touch me."

Dean's hands alight on his shoulders, surprisingly warm and oddly tentative as they curve around the points and glide in toward Sam's neck. Sam arches into the touch at the same time he pulls back. In again and Dean's thumbs brush the line of Sam's jaw to behind his ears, pressing when Sam bottoms out, sunk in Dean to the root. "Sam..." Dean's voice is urgent, jagged. "Sammy…"

"Yeah, Dean." Sam pushes himself up, pulling back onto his knees enough that he can wrap his fingers around his brother's cock. "You've been so good, so patient…it's okay. You can c…"

Sam doesn't get any further than that before Dean bucks up and spills, striping Sam's chest and neck in warm spurts, moaning Sam's name.

_Jesus._

Sam releases Dean's cock and digs both hands into the sheets, using the leverage to drive himself into Dean over and over until his own orgasm boils up from his core, emptying him out into Dean. Sam buries his face in Dean's neck and sob-screams it out, barely muffled by his brother's skin.

Slowly, Dean's hands skim up Sam's sides to his back, rubbing in gentle, soothing arcs while Sam comes down. For a while, Sam's content—more than content—to lie like that, sucking idle, lazy bruises into Dean's neck while Dean shudders and pets.

"You okay?" Sam asks finally, because—bracelet on or off—Dean is still his to safeguard and protect. Sam wriggles slightly to ease out of Dean, wincing at the drying come that glues them together.

"Yeah." Dean lets his hands fall back to the mattress.

"Hey." Sam lifts his head. "You can still touch me if you want."

Dean doesn't say anything, but after a second, his hands come back, surer than before. Sam's skin zings with goose bumps but deliciously so. He nuzzles into Dean's skin again and after a few moments, Dean turns his head and they fumble into kissing, slow and easy.

There's no way Sam can summon up the energy to go another round, but by the time Dean pulls away from him, Sam wishes he could. Instead, he smacks Dean's ass smartly, making Dean hum. "Go shower."

Dean nods and Sam rolls aside to let him move. Even through the lassitude of a damn fine lay, Sam's aware that there _is_ strangeness between them now like the raw leather of a new and unbroken belt. As Dean vanishes into the bathroom, Sam sighs and scratches through his itchy hair wondering if his vague notion of 'just Sam and Dean' is even worth pushing more weirdness into their lives. It's already unbelievably complicated, juggling the years of history and this _need_ that Le Chard's pollen brought to the surface, to have and to keep or to be had and kept. Dean needs him to be in control of this, to be in control of them, like Sam has _any fucking idea what he's doing_ …

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam turns his head to see Dean standing in the bathroom doorway naked and bruised, hands braced on either jamb and his eyes on his feet. Sam's eyes go to the bracelet, still banded tight against the freckled brownness of Dean's wrist. It makes his dick twitch pleasantly and it's difficult to keep from ordering Dean back to the bed.

"I…" Dean's head jerks uncomfortably. "You wanna come wash my back?"

It spreads through Sam like heat, making him feel lighter in his skin. He sits up and scratches his belly. "Yeah, Dean. Long as you plan on returning the favor."

Dean looks up, mouth pulling crooked in a smile. He rolls his eyes. "So fucking demanding, Sammy."

"Yeah, and you like it like that. Bitch."

Dean's grin widens and he ducks back in the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mona1347, mickeym & offtheceiling for beta duties.


End file.
